Conversation Redux
by blue-ellie
Summary: Duo comes to see Heero, but Heero doesn't want anything to do with him.
1. Chapter 1

[Fic] Conversations Redux  
Author: Ellie  
Pairings: 1, 2  
Warnings: Language, angst  
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are copyrighted to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. The characters of these works are used without permission for the purpose of entertainment only. These works of fiction are not meant for sale or profit.

Notes: This is a complete re-write of an earlier story, Conversations About the House (hence the title). Since I cannot write a sequel, as requested, with a happier ending, I'm trying for a complete rewrite. My guess is that it's not going to resemble the original story at all. Please pay attention to the warnings at the beginning of each section, because they are subject to change.

In an effort to keep the story moving, I'm going to try to do micro-updates (a la Kracken). New portions are in bold.

* * *

AC 202

"I told you to get lost." Heero glared at the _persona non grata_ sitting in the passenger seat.

"You should know I don't take your threats seriously," Duo said, buckling himself in. His clothes were soiled and rumpled, his chin bristled with stubble, and he stank of old cooking oil and cigarette smoke. Heero cracked the window.

What Heero wanted to say was: _I don't know you at all._ Because how can you know a man when all you see is what he can do, not who he is? Duo may as well have been a hammer or a Swiss-army knife. Whatever he was, _whoever_ he was, Duo belonged to the discrete section of his life that Heero had sought to, if not forget, at least overlook. Heero did not know what the others had done with theirs, but he had hurled his medal of "honor" out of the very first airlock he found.

So why the hell was Duo here, demanding favors? If he needed a place to spend the night, there were plenty of hotels, hostels and homeless shelters in the city. There was no good reason for Duo to tail him back to his car. But there he was, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together, as if he were holding back a flood of words that once said, could not be unsaid.

"There's an inexpensive capsule hotel not too far. Go-"

"No," said Duo.

Heero sucked in air through his teeth and reached for his wallet.

"Don't," said Duo.

Heero fisted the keys in his lap. He counted to ten and then, as he was counting back down to one, Duo's stomach let out a rumbling growl, which Heero's, to his chagrin, answered. Breakfast, it sourly remind him, had been a long time ago.

"I'll buy you dinner," he said, shoving the key into the ignition. Duo made no reply; he just stretched his chilblained fingers towards the cold air blowing out of the vent.

Dinner neither improved Heero's mood nor loosened Duo's tongue. They sat side by side at the counter in relative silence; Duo slurped his noodles like a native. The cook, who had long ago given up on engaging Heero in conversation, poured steaming broth into bowl after bowl of soba noodles without a pause in his discussion with one of the regulars on the strengths and weaknesses of the Nippon Ham Fighters' new lineup. Heero caught people staring at Duo, but chalked it up to curiosity and Duo's bedraggled state. The noodle shop was far enough off the beaten path that white foreigners were still an oddity.

"Hey- You!" Over Duo's bent head, Heero could see a bespectacled man, his face flush with drink, digging his forefinger into Duo's bicep. For the space of a heartbeat Duo's chopsticks froze in midair. Then the moment was over, and soup and Duo went flying at the man. Heero's hand shot out, but it was too late; the tips of his fingers just brushed the back of Duo's shoulder as he fell to the floor, taking the man down with him. Heero leapt after him, and pulled him off before anyone landed the first punch. With his free hand, Heero thrust his jacket at Duo and shoved him in the direction of the door. He turned back to the man on the floor, who was now picking bits of noodle off of his stained shirtfront. Heero handed him a stack of napkins. The man started to say something, but clammed up when he saw the badge at Heero's belt. Swallowing his irritation - Duo would provide better answers than this guy, anyway - Heero waved him away.

"Your friend's not welcomed here," said the cook as Heero settled their bill. "I don't serve his kind."

The cook's sudden onset of xenophobia surprised him, because the noodle shop was located near a _buraku_ and permanent residents - Koreans, Chinese, Filipinos - used it as a regular meeting spot. The cook had served them all without a word. Heero asked, ""Americans?"

"Terrorists," said the cook, handing him the change. Heero had forgotten what the people of Earth had not: the image broadcast round the world as OZ took Duo into custody. When the history books were written, it would be Duo's face, and Duo's alone, inked onto the page. Heero pocketed the money and left.

Duo was sitting on the curb outside. At Heero's approach he pushed himself to his feet. There was still a defiant set to his jaw, a sneer in his squared shoulders. _I could tell him to go_, thought Heero. _I could tell him to go, and he would._ A word, small and hard like a stone, settled on his tongue. For the first time that night, he _looked_ at Duo - shivering, clad in a flannel work shirt patched neatly at the elbows, laconic, with a day-old black eye (how had he missed that?) and nothing but the clothes on his back - and discovered, to his dismay, a hairline crack in his resolve. Whatever had happened in the intervening years, they were still blood brothers. Heero could not turn away from Duo the way he had turned from his memories.

"Let's go," said Heero, shrugging into his jacket. He strode off toward the car. Behind him, he could sense more than hear the light tread of boots as they hit the pavement.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Thus far warnings are the same. Will continue to do micro-updates as I can, because something is better than nothing. Sorry!

* * *

Heero's house - the thought still made his toes curl - was nestled deep in the woods, an hour away from civilization. To all but the realtor - _A cozy cottage ready to remodel your way!_ - it was a _haikyo_. Long ago the place had ceased to be anyone's home though the vestiges of tenancy remained: a naked Kewpie doll in the bathtub; pills beaded around the edge of the sink like a string of pearls; an unmatched, mouse-chewed slipper squashed by the over-turned kitchen table. Nature had moved in and now stubbornly resisted eviction. The smell of mildew wafted through the house and leaf mold patinated the roof.

"So," said Duo, slamming the car door, "this is where you bury the bodies." Drifts of leaves over a mat of pine needles transformed the front yard into a field of unmarked graves. The front door and windows were boarded up. A sign threatening trespassers with a dire fate was stapled to the wood.

Heero stared at Duo, not sure if he was supposed to say something reassuring or simply laugh. He had enough sense to know that "_A person can disappear without all that effort_" was not the desired response, and so he said nothing. Instead he snagged the bag of dirty, blood-stained uniforms from the back seat, pulled a tarp over the car and headed around the side of the house.

Whatever Duo had been expecting, this was not it. He loitered by the car for a few disconcerted seconds before jogging to catch up. Turning the corner, Duo discovered that Heero was nowhere to be found.

But there was fresh glass in two of the windows that faced the rear garden and the screen door swung crazily from one hinge. Duo ducked inside.

Darkness greeted him; it felt the same as Heero's earlier welcome - cold, unyielding and inhospitable. He groped along the wall for a light switch. Just as his fingers brushed against the little nub, a strong hand pinned his to the wall. Duo froze, expecting the threat of a knife at his throat. Time unraveled. Whether it was seconds or minutes before Heero's fingers finally slackened, Duo would never know.

"You'll short the circuit." Warm breath tickled Duo's ear. "Stay," said Heero, at last letting go. He pushed past Duo and strode out into the night.

Stay was not a word in Duo's vocabulary. Not when his host appeared hell-bent on leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere with a bag of bloody clothes (_evidence_?). He had no desire to explore the house the way a blind man would, turning his body into a map of bruises.


End file.
